Measure of Merit - Diary of a Shadow Child
by Face of Poe
Summary: Chronicling a year in the life of Cem Fel, living in isolation on Nirauan as the family's shadow child. Reposted from JCF 2012 diary challenge. Set between Vision of the Future and Survivor's Quest.
1. Entry 1

**A/N: **Hey-o. Wrote this a couple years back for the Jedi Council Forums and I'm on a new mission to transfer some stuff over here after formatting issues over there ate most of it. Sooooo….

This is set about **21 ABY**. My Cem is older than Jag because it made more logistical sense to me that way, so he's turning 17 the year this is set, Jag is 14. Otherwise, I tried to reconcile some canon ("Legends"?) discrepancies between _Vision of the Future_ and _Survivor's Quest _and _Red Sky, Blue Flame_.

Also compatible with my AU where Cem features a starring role in _Value of Sacrifice_.

**Rated** T for some later drama and angst.

Enjoy!

**Measure of Merit – Diary of a Shadow Child **

**Entry 1**

My name is Cem Fel. I am sixteen years old, the third of six children. I have two older brothers, one younger brother, and two younger sisters. They are a well-behaved bunch who do their duty by our father and by our sworn fealty to Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo's Household Phalanx. _They_ are a well-behaved bunch and I?

I am a problem child.

Only… I am not a child. In the eyes of the chiss amongst whom we live, only my youngest sister, at the tender age of six standard years, would yet be considered juvenile. In the eyes of the chiss, I am not a child, but what do you call someone who has no particular future prospects, lives at home, and relies on his parents for the basic comforts of life?

I have few delusions regarding the tension I have created in my family- between my parents, among my siblings- but I've never considered my qualms to be unreasonable. My younger brother wants a commission to the training academy; my youngest sister wants dolls, and ribbons for her hair.

I want simple acknowledgement.

My father is a stern man and violent by professional necessity but not, I think, by nature. I've never seen him raise a hand against any of my brothers or sisters, and I firmly believe he would die before he raised so much as his voice to my mother. Were he to discover this datacard though, I would not be surprised should he subject me to the first beating of my life. Not for the content, at-times critical though it may be… but rather, for the lie it would reveal, should it fall into the hands of any outside my family.

Because, you see- there _is_ no Cem Fel. And yet…

My name is Cem Fel.

I am a shadow child.

I do not exist.


	2. Entry 2

[Prompt: _Delete?_]

[Enter command: _Yes_]

[Prompt: _ Please confirm; all data will be lost_]

…

…

…

…

…

[Enter command: A_bort_]

**Entry 2**

Our parents like to note our birthdays on the Coruscanti calendar. This is the one strange aspect to which they have clung to their past lives.

I say _their_ past lives- my eldest brother was not yet four when we relocated to Nirauan, Chak was barely two, I was not a year of age. A Coruscanti year; a _Galactic Standard_ year. Both of our parents are rooted on Corellia, yet never display an interest towards a Corellian _anything_. Perhaps they've both seen too much beyond their homeworld, in their own way, to hold to something so quaint.

The story has it that my mother discovered she was pregnant with me the same day she learned that my father defected to Rogue Squadron, to the Rebel Alliance, to the _New Republic_. It was five months before she saw my father again, before she was reunited with a brother she'd not seen since his childhood. And at six months pregnant, she concealed her condition, just as she concealed the existence of Davin and Chak, lest they be used as pawns in the game of civil war, of galactic strife.

Seven months later, the agents of the Empire proved their worth and caught up with us but not, as it were, for the purposes my father feared. We were turned over to Grand Admiral Thrawn, Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo, my father soon followed- and sixteen years later, the Fels are like a myth in the known galaxy: the Imperial ace married to the famous holostar- it's the stuff of fairy tales.

Fairy tales often end tragically.

The tragedy of my parents' story is a fabrication, and it was my father's fear that the illusion was shattered two years ago when outsiders were lured to the fortress which we call home. It has been two years though, and the New Republic has not come crashing down on our heads, my mother's brother has not turned up to demand after her, so perhaps father underestimated the honor of the visitors.

I once asked about them- _why_ were they here, in our isolated alcove of the galaxy? Father's jaw tensed up, his lips tightened into a thin line, and he told me to go look after young Wynssa. It is a reaction I've seen from him before, when a military operation goes poorly, when the objectives are not achieved, or when the costs outweigh the benefits.

I sense that all three were the case in the fiasco of two years ago.

Davin revealed more than father, intimated in me and Jagged, all of twelve at the time, the damage that the fortress had suffered at the hands of the visitors- visitors who, according to my eldest brother, possessed strange and mystical powers, carried blades made of pure energy, destroyed an entire hangar and trapped a whole wing of clawcraft fighters.

Two people. They must have been fearsome warriors, I wonder that father could have underestimated them at all.

Perhaps someone, somewhere, sees them as heroes. Mother's brother is a hero of the Rebellion, and it was Davin who found himself enamored of the tales of fighting against all reasonable odds, of taking down impressive foes, conquering the forces of evil…

Father stopped talking about Wedge Antilles by the time Jagged and I were of a suitable age for such stories; he bade mother to avoid the subject as well. But Davin, inexplicably proud of an uncle he has never known and never will, relayed to us the romantic tales of those glory days, the tragedy of our mother, seeing her husband on one side of the war and her brother on the other.

Jagged is named for his maternal grandfather, it is fitting that he would find himself likewise fascinated. I seem to take more after Chak, who shrugs off such stories of glory and focuses his efforts on excelling at his training, at his piloting and- as ever he has- at pleasing father. I have no training at which to excel, have never sat in the cockpit of a clawcraft fighter, and I _rarely _please father- but what use have I for heroics?

Heroes are for Davin, who commands an entire wing of fighters, who pits the forces of the Phalanx against the terrible enemies that would threaten the rest of the galaxy, did the Phalanx not throw itself at them with a fury first. Heroes are even for Chak, who pursues his career with the forces of the Hand, rather than the Phalanx.

Jagged and Cherith will soon follow their designated paths, will fulfill their duties. I will stay at home long after they leave which, at fourteen and thirteen, will be sooner rather than later. I will stay home with mother and with Wynssa until she too, in another eight or ten years, pursues the only honorable career known to the chiss: the military. War.

I will stay at home. Because I am a shadow child, and I do not exist.


	3. Entry 3

**Entry 3**

For all the dullness of life that being a family's shadow child entails, it is, supposedly, something of an honor. Granted, that honor was likely much greater at a time when the high families of the Chiss Ascendancy feuded, struck one another from power… and yes, sometimes targeted each other for assassination.

We are not chiss.

We do not live in the Ascendancy.

The Empire of the Hand is guided by military rule, not aristocrats. There are no families to feud with the Fels, as the Fels themselves are not in power. My _father_ is, yes. General Soontir Fel, baron of the old Empire, second-in-command only to Admiral Voss Parck. The third member of the triumvirate of power, since the departure of Mitth'raw'nuruodo, is Commander Kres'ten'tarthi, a chiss who is oftentimes at odds with my father.

Parck is, incidentally, the only being on Nirauan with whom I have semi-regular contact aside from my own family. Probably because he was the one who initiated my father into the Hand, and hiding a four-month-old infant would have been tricky at best. Not that my parents were any strangers to the difficulties of hiding their children. None knew of Davin and Chak, save father's closest family on Corellia; my mother went into hiding long before any of them could have known she was pregnant with me.

Which made me, such as it is, the logical choice for shadow child, for the one who must continue to be hidden. It is considered an honor by some; all who have sworn fealty to the Hand would consider my circumstances to be an even _greater _honor because of how I came to fall into the role as an infant: it was at the suggestion of Mitth'raw'nuruodo himself.

I hate him.

Perhaps he had a reason for it- what possible use could my family have for a shadow child?- if so, the reason died with him twelve years ago. But I was barely five years old and my father did not relent on the decision, and hidden I have remained ever since. I have watched my elder brothers depart for their respective military training academies, I stay behind when Jagged and Cherith attend strict lessons with stoic chiss several years their junior.

I still learn it all of course; as father put it during one of my younger periods of stubborn sulking, it would quite defeat the purpose were I to learn none of the skills that would help me survive and navigate this foreign culture, should the family fall. But while Jagged and Cherith are commended for excelling at their studies, their combat training- it is simply expected of me, no more, no less. If I do not learn obscure histories of a race I have never technically met, I am a failure; if I learn them to perfection, I am simply performing as expected.

But while I can live a simulation of a life here, on Nirauan- I will never escape, as Chak and Davin have done- as Jagged hopes to do sooner than he lets on, I think. And while I can learn the basics beyond the academic and technical studies- weapons handling, hand-to-hand combat- the one thing I will never be able to do, while living as a ghost, is pilot a Clawcraft.

The training academy is not for shadow children who do not exist.


	4. Entry 4

**Entry 4**

I seem to possess greater foresight than I ever suspected. Which is, I suppose, good, as it lessened the blow upon delivery.

The terse nervousness in the eyes of my younger brother- my younger brother who is rarely terse and _never_ nervous, practically to the point of folly- first alerted me that his news was of a sort I would find… unappealing. But he said he wanted to tell me first. Jagged is not oblivious, he knows how little merit I will still find in this place when he is gone.

And at the age of fourteen, he confessed to me his intentions of requesting an appointment from father to attend Davin's old training academy.

I _did_ see it coming, but hoped futilely that I might yet have another year with my younger brother. Cherith, barely thirteen, will undoubtedly stay around another year or two- regardless of how long until she leaves, Wynssa will be devastated when she does. But Cherith is yet a child in some ways, is only just beginning to fall into the mold which Jagged has been striving to fit for months now. There is great pressure on them- as there was on Chak and Davin before- to shirk their inherent human weaknesses, to become chiss, to deny emotions and learn to respond to one thing and one thing only: duty.

Jagged is a somewhat brash sort- as Davin was, at his age. But he has generally excelled- for a human- at his studies and training exercises. I suspect that suddenly finding himself at a chiss-run training academy will be something of a rude awakening for the youngest Fel son, but perhaps that is what he needs. Even here, surrounded by chiss, he is still under the watch and protection of the humans- Admiral Parck and General Fel- who command us all. Among chiss pilots though- trained by chiss, reprimanded by chiss… probably _led_ by chiss who are younger than he- it might stamp out some of that latent hero-worship which quietly irks father, but which Davin never really lost.

Then again- father could always say no.


	5. Entry 5

**Entry 5**

Father called us- me, Jagged, Cherith- into his office three hours ago, just after dinner. A shrewd man, father knows precisely when to deliver news of import so as to minimize the fallout.

In other words- he prefers to give me a night to sleep off my frustration before subjecting my mother and Wynssa to it.

At home, father is father. Though the fortress in which we live is ninety percent 'business'- starfighter hangars, command and intelligence centers, training areas- the sections designated for living quarters lay behind an invisible barrier of sorts. Those quarters tend to be small and efficient- there are very few families and even those chiss who _do_ live with spouses, children… the chiss in general do not tend to have as _many_ children as have my parents. Our quarters had to be specially redesigned. A family of eight is quite unheard of, in the annals of chiss history.

I suppose mother and father had little else to do, sequestered away from everyone and everything they knew and loved.

Despite this invisible barrier which separates the military professionalism from his… well… military fatherhood, the exception to the rule is his office. Anywhere else in our sizeable apartment, he is 'father' to us all save Wynssa, who still calls him 'dad'- never daddy, even at six years old she is observant enough to realize that 'daddy' is far too informal for the serious general. In the office though, which we are forbidden from entering without permission, he is 'sir' or 'General.' And to be summoned to that office is indication that the purpose is a serious one- a discussion of progression in studies and training, a reprimand for inexcusably poor performance… not that such a thing is common for my siblings who strive to meet the standards of the chiss with whom they must study.

For father to summon all three of us suggested that the visit was for mildly different purposes. And that purpose was stated immediately. He looked evenly at each of us in turn- and then fixed his eyes on Jagged.

"Commander Stent has approved your application, Jagged; your name will be added to the roster for the next training cycle."

Cherith looked at our brother in surprise; he apparently had neglected to discuss his intentions with her as he had me. A glance at him showed a faint glimmer of pride behind his green eyes as he stiffly, at attention, thanked father formally and relayed his intention of likewise thanking the commander.

I have never met Stent- he does not know of my existence. But I do know there is a certain tension between him and father. They are counterparts of separate yet intertwined entities beneath Admiral Parck- Kres'ten'tarthi is commander of the Household Phalanx, a group- larger than the Ascendancy cares to admit- of renegade chiss who subscribe to Mitth'raw'nuruodo's nontraditional views of warfare. Father's authority, conversely, comes directly from the Imperial element of the Empire of the Hand, the forces offered by the Emperor himself so that Grand Admiral Thrawn might begin accumulating the forces here, hidden and unknown to the rest of the galaxy.

Both defer to Parck, but quietly question one another's decisions often enough.

I wonder if Jagged understands the secondary reason for Stent to allow a human into his elite academy on Rhigar. Surely, Stent has no particular interest invested in Jagged's piloting abilities, which are probably average at best among those who train there; he certainly holds no high expectations for a human to distinguish himself above the chiss.

No, Jagged may yet be naïve enough to not realize that Stent's agreement is as much about his distrust of father as a gesture to maintain the peace between them. Especially in the two years since our secrecy was first compromised, Stent has little faith in human honor. So yes, Jagged will have the honor of attending an elite academy… but at the same time, will be Stent's hostage to ensure father's good faith. Just as Davin was before him.

Stent does the Fels too little justice, however- Davin proved himself quickly enough and now commands his own wing. Father has never once betrayed the doctrine of Mitth'raw'nuruodo, as much as Stent likes to blame the incident two years ago on him and Parck. Perhaps Jagged, too, will exceed all expectations, once he takes full measure of the obstacles stacked against him.

I think father was surprised by my lack of protest- as though he expects me to do a disservice to my brother to argue against him attaining what has been his goal since he was all of nine, when Davin first left.

There will yet be a few months for me to get used to the idea of living without my younger brother; the next training cycle will not come until midsummer- though on Rhigar, 'summer' is a relative term that simply means that the frozen world is not _as_ cold as winter.

Jagged and Cherith came to my room after our meeting with father; they are now curled up on opposite ends of my bed, asleep. It's reminiscent of our younger years- first, when Davin, Chak, and I prided ourselves on our sneakiness and would creep into each other's rooms late at night to talk and play with starfighter models. Often enough, we would all fall asleep in the same room, sometimes crowded into one bed, and reveal our late night misdeeds in such a way, but mother would just shake her head and gently prod everyone back to their respective rooms to dress. Our exhaustion through the day would be punishment enough, in her eyes.

Davin and Chak are gone now though- and I doubt the practice will live on when it is me and my two sisters. Cherith and I are just far enough apart in age that we do not connect as easily as she does with Jagged.

I am resigned though- my desire to see my brother happy offsets the bitterness that will undoubtedly settle in more strongly once he is gone. Nevertheless… perhaps he will be willing to practice some hand-to-hand sparring techniques tomorrow.

Better yet- perhaps we can convince father to let us take _Starflare_ up this week. The family yacht is no starfighter, but even a short and purposeless joyride around Nirauan is treat enough in itself.

It's like an illusion of escape.


	6. Entry 6

**Entry 6**

We've just had word that both Chak and Davin will visit Nirauan next month- a family visit masked as business, as both are soon to face assignment changes, according to father. It is a fortunate happenstance, considering the two serve in wholly separate forces, and their aligning schedules must have been entirely coincidence.

Mother is beside herself with joy- it shall be the first time, since Chak left four years ago, that she will have all six of us in one place at the same time.

Jagged has always been close with our oldest brother, despite the six years which separate him from Davin; I think the excitement behind his eyes, excitement he tries to keep to himself in a manner befitting a chiss warrior, is grounded in pride, that he might share the news of his academy appointment with Davin in person.

Wynssa, on the other hand, barely knows her oldest brothers. She was barely two years of age when Davin left for Rhigar, and little more than three when Chak undertook Imperial training. Now, with Wynssa nearly seven… she knows they are her brothers, of course, but does not truly _know_ them. They are old, men in her eyes, strange figures who visit for hours at a time, with months between appearances.

There was a time when Davin, Chak, and I were inseparable. It was a sort of middle time period- we were old enough that Jagged and Cherith, only two and three years my junior, were nuisances, excluded from our jealously guarded play time; yet young enough that we did not fully comprehend our situations in life, did not understand the duty which had yet to be engrained in our immature minds… did not understand that, one day, they would leave and I would not have the option to follow.

As the years went on though… eventually, Davin began venturing from our private little corner of the fortress to have lessons and play times that were more of social gatherings with the few young chiss who also resided in the fortress. Soon enough, Chak joined him, and one day they were learning rudimentary combat skills with chiss two years younger, and I was still at home and finally beginning to realize the full measure of the term 'shadow child.'

The first major argument occurred when Jagged, seven years old, began his own studies and training with grim and stoic chiss instructors. I protested the unfairness of the arrangement to father, and he stood by the same explanation that he has touted since I was old enough to understand- Mitth'raw'nuruodo had urged it.

Five years after the admiral's death, and father was still adhering to his deranged and paranoid delusions.

Father countered that it was _not_ the admiral's death- that the admiral had urged them faith and patience, that he would return ten years later.

I laughed in his face and called him a fool.

Unsurprisingly, I was sentenced to an early bedtime without dinner that night.

And just as unsurprisingly, now _twelve_ years since the admiral's death- he has not returned, and never will. And if he did…

While the rest of my family would be lauding him in their practically religious devotion, I imagine I'd be scheming how best to put a blaster bolt in his chest.

Can a shadow child who does not exist be charged with murder?


	7. Entry 7

**Entry 7**

Even I may have underestimated Stent's cunning; for all that I considered his secondary motives in accepting Jagged to his academy, it had not occurred to me that Jagged is a full year younger than Davin was, when Stent finally declared him old and mature enough for the post.

As it turns out, it is more than simple distrust of father; it is distrust of the entire Empire.

Two years ago, rumor reached us of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's return to the Empire. The initial reactions of those in charge was relief- he _had_ said to await his return in ten years, were he reported dead- tinged with suspicion- why would he send no word to Parck? Nevertheless, provisions were made to at last transfer the resources of the Hand under proper Imperial control, so that the small remnants of a once-glorious Empire might ascend once more, and finally beat back the New Republic, the Rebellion, to again unite a strong and undefeatable galaxy.

And then three things happened in quick succession- first, the outsiders destroyed the main hangar in order to prevent Parck from sending an emissary to the Imperial capital at Bastion. Apparently one of these visitors was here because Parck wanted to recruit her; I guess the other showed up simply to add emphasis to her refusal.

Second, it was revealed that 'Mitth'raw'nuruodo' was, in fact, a con artist. Not even chiss.

Third, the Empire and the New Republic made peace.

Without a war to fight- and without a craft to send- Parck, Stent, and father saw little point in unveiling the vast resources at the Hand's disposal. To do so would have served no purpose but to disrupt the newfound peace, and to make the Chiss Ascendancy highly suspicious and paranoid. They have jealously guarded their corner of the "Unknown" Regions for millennia, and have tense enough relations with the Hand as it is.

Two years later, something must have happened- or be happening- to change their minds though. Father has remained relatively tight-lipped about the reasoning, but Parck has finally decided that he is to establish contact with the Empire at Bastion. This makes everyone, to a point, nervous- Parck and Stent, because there is no telling how the Imperial leadership will respond to the opening of relations; father, because it brings him one step closer to those who have believed him dead for sixteen years. Those such as mother's brother, Wedge Antilles, who would be interested at the very least to learn of his family out here on Nirauan.

Curiosity winning out, I asked over dinner about the two who infiltrated the fortress two years ago, when everyone's worries were first peaked about the New Republic moving against us. Father regarded me oddly a moment, and then told me to come see him in his office afterwards- I assumed I'd managed to do something wrong, but he surprised me by simply… sitting and talking.

He told me about them- said that they weren't infiltrators, exactly, that one had specifically been lured because Mitth'raw'nuruodo had long ago recommended recruiting her. Parck and father had not counted on the second showing up though, and that is apparently where their plans fell through. What I did not know- based on Davin's limited knowledge of the incident at the time- was that he was someone father knew from his days with the New Republic.

Luke Skywalker. He is something known as a 'Jedi,' some strange combination of genetically-acquired powers and religious discipline, from what I understand. And he was the other founding pilot of the famed Rogue squadron in which father flew with Antilles. The woman, Mara Jade, served the Emperor once, but has apparently strayed from her Imperial roots, as evidenced by her unwillingness to join the Hand, and her all-too-effective efforts at preventing anyone here from assisting Bastion during the war.

I asked father why he was confiding all of this now, and why he would confide it in _me_.

"The galaxy is changing, Cem; while your brothers look towards threats from beyond, it will not do to ignore the circumstances within. The Empire and the Republic are at peace; the Jedi are rising again. We cannot allow isolation to make us lax in knowing the lay of the land."

And that is all he said. Then he gave me a datacard and told me to study the Intelligence reports on it while he was away, and be prepared to answer questions upon his return. Most interestingly of all, he told me to keep the assignment quiet from Jagged and Cherith. I suppose he doesn't want Jagged distracted before he journeys to Rhigar, and knows well-enough that, if both Cherith and I know something, Jagged can't be far behind.

So I begin tonight with a semi-detailed recap of the political situation between the Empire and the New Republic in the past twenty years. A quick skim through the recent events shows some recurring names… Skywalker, Solo, Pellaeon, among many others… the major players of a war which father left behind, that he might prepare instead for the next one.

Perhaps I'll even get a sense of whether it was all worth it.


	8. Entry 8

**Entry 8**

Father got back late last night; we expect Davin tomorrow, and Chak the day after. This gives father a narrow window to test how I've studied in his absence, but we did speak for a time upon his immediate return. His moods and emotions are always difficult to read, but I suspect that his trip affected him more greatly than he would ever admit. Nevertheless, he did not retire straight away and, once everyone else went to bed, he asked my initial impressions from my research.

I was torn between honesty and risking the strain of our unusually amicable relationship. I think he realized that though, and just gave me that look, the one that has been shaming the Fel children into good behavior since Davin was old enough to understand it, I expect. So honesty it was.

"Honestly, sir- my first impression is that you were the most celebrated pilot in the navy of an Emperor who destroyed an entire planet to make a point… and _continued_ to serve in the navy until after his death."

His answering smile was wistful with traces of bitter remembrance. "And your question, son?"

"How could you justify that to yourself?"

"What do _you_ think?"

That, of course, gave me pause, sensing a verbal trap of sorts. But I was already in it and had little to lose. "Three possibilities- each unlikely." Father began to look interested. "First- that you were afraid of leaving. Second, that you were naïve enough to believe the propaganda that the Rebellion destroyed Alderaan. Or third… you believed such an Empire… under such unscrupulous leadership… was truly the lesser evil."

"You've forgotten the key point," he responded wryly. I stared and shook my head. "You've already mentioned it."

Alderaan. "You feared retaliation against Corellia?"

Father actually grinned. "I never flattered myself to think I was so important; and the Empire could probably not afford to alienate the Corellians in its service. But it cannot be denied that innocent, peaceful civilians paid the price for the actions of the relative handful of Rebels. So you must choose."

"Actively support change at the cost of the innocent, or work from within to keep the innocent out of harm's way?"

He shrugged. "I cannot say whether there is a _right_ choice. Circumstances vary… the consideration of your mother, Davin, Chak…" He got quiet for a long minute, clearly back some twenty years in memories that he had too long ignored. "Wedge knew what he had to do; I did my duty. That did not necessarily make us enemies, after the fact. And such an understanding enables the dialogue today between those who once served on opposite sides of a long and bloody conflict."

Father sent me off not long after that conversation. I think there might be a lesson he's waiting for me to understand… or at least to contemplate in the coming days while my brothers are here.


	9. Entry 9

**Entry 9**

I suppose I ought not be surprised that the peace lasted less than a week from father's return home. For once though- truly surprising as it is- I was not the instigator of discontent though I was, perhaps, the subject of it. The trouble was easily enough foreseen, and truly began less than a _day_ after father returned home… and less than an hour from Davin's arrival on Nirauan.

My eldest brother made his obligatory report to Stent and Parck upon his arrival, and then preceded father in returning to our quarters, where he embraced mother and Cherith, and a nervous, shy Wynssa; and then after a brief and faint smile towards Jagged, he turned to stare at me blandly and asks, "So… still here, then?"

All I can wonder is whether he would have said it had father been present, but my mouth worked automatically. "Where else should I be?" To my credit, I don't believe I even sounded bitter. Davin shrugged and changed the topic of conversation before mother could catch what was going on, and it didn't come up again until much later that night when my brothers and I retired to Jagged's room.

Davin could be a holostar. The first of my parent's children, only he and Wynssa, the last, inherited mother's blonde hair and blue eyes. The rest of us have the darker hair of our father. Chak and Cherith also took his dark eyes, Jagged's are green; mine are in between, a hazel which mother says is evocative of her brother, Wedge. I think it makes her sad, sometimes.

But Davin's fair complexion gives him the appearance, I think, of something he is not, of something soft, spoiled, pampered. At times, even I forget that he fought for his right to fight alongside the chiss among whom he played, studied, and eventually trained, before they reached their advanced maturity and left the deficient humans behind. He fought for that right and won it, surpassed his superiors' highest expectations, and earned the command and allegiance of those who once saw him as slow and inferior. Davin has refused to let circumstances beyond his control- that is, father bringing us here in the first place- to dictate his course in life. It is no wonder that Jagged aspires to follow in the footsteps of our oldest brother.

And apparently Davin feels it is time that I do the same. Not to follow in _his_ footsteps, per se, but to set my own path, with or without the blessing of father.

My obvious question to him is how I might do that without father's blessing; he seems to feel that it ought to be as simple as leaving. But for all of Davin's intelligence, capabilities, drive… he doesn't understand, _couldn't_ understand, what it is to be in my position.

_I do not exist._

It can never be as simple as leaving for one who does not have proper clearance and identification to even be flying in Nirauan space. It can never be as simple as leaving for one who has known _nothing_ _else_ beyond the small world of his family, our quarters, the family yacht… I know the rest of this fortress like the back of my hand but have never actually _seen_ it… It can never be as simple as leaving for a shadow child of humans inexplicably carrying on a chiss tradition.

I am isolated and alone in a way that Davin, who grew up dealing with the low expectations and skepticism of the chiss, but dealing with them nevertheless, could never understand. It is not whining to say that, it is simple fact and reality, a reality even further out of Davin's grasp now that he has seen more than Nirauan, now that he has moved beyond father's shadow and proven his own worth beyond simply bearing the name Fel.

How do you explain to someone… a brother, a confidante, a friend… who stares death in the face and emerges triumphant time and again… a warrior in whom others willingly place their lives and trust he will not spend them in vain… how do you explain the oppressive weight that accompanies my useless _duty_ of remaining unheard, unseen, nonexistent? How do you explain the horrible confliction between desiring any life besides your own, yet not wishing to disappoint father, from whom we all derive our damnable sense of duty in the first place?

I first thought it was just… a mood, the temperament born of a long journey and little sleep. When Davin got into a long and loud argument with father five days later though… I wonder what has happened to suddenly drive him in this sudden quest for, as he put it to father, my freedom.

Normally, I would phrase it in such a way as well; but seeing my steady, stoic, serious older brother quarrel with our father in a way none of us have ever dared… not even me, at the height of my bouts of impudence… I could not even bring myself to add word to Davin's arguments, and cowardly obeyed without a second thought when father gestured me out of his office. I practically fled.


	10. Entry 10

**Entry 10**

Chak and Davin are gone- Davin, to begin a short-term scouting mission along the border between Ascendancy and Hand space, a respite for his wing after months harassing the Vagaari; Chak, to assume command of his own Imperial fighter wing, a promotion recommended by his Naval superiors and approved here by Admiral Parck. Jagged is due to leave us in less than a month as well.

I never received a satisfactory answer from Davin regarding his argument with father, though I think he was mildly peeved that I did not join in his tirade. Part of his vendetta seems tied to father's decision to let Jagged leave here at so young an age, but there must be something deeper beneath the surface. If father knows, he is remaining typically stoic about it.

Periods of contention aside, my brothers and I managed to resurrect a bit of childhood nostalgia during their visit. Chak unearthed some of our old starfighter models and Davin proceeded to disassemble two of them, use the parts to reconstruct one into the rough shape of a Chiss Clawcraft, and then explain the clear merits of said craft over the old Imperial and Rebel counterparts.

And then he spent the rest of the night fiddling with the old X-wing model that was his favorite as a small boy- as ever, enthralled by the intrigue of heroic stories of the infamous Rogue Squadron.

I caught father looking at our old children's toys the next day, after Davin and Chak had departed. He grinned ruefully as he regarded Davin's approximation of a Clawcraft fighter, but picked up the old TIE and X-wing models as he beckoned me into the room.

"Another example of Imperial ruthlessness," he handed them over to me. "The TIE- faster, more maneuverable…only a select few weighted down by hyperdrives and life-support systems, by shield generators. Do not doubt for an instant that some unscrupulous commanders were more eager to escape an engagement zone quickly, than ensure their surviving pilots made it back aboard. TIE craft and pilots were considered expendable to the utmost."

"Then it's a wonder any would voluntarily pilot them in battle."

It was one of those comments which, after it escaped me, I wondered if father might find some offense in it. He seemed unfazed though. "The challenge is half the allure, for brash young men." He sighed and looked away, staring into the past. "Stories are told of those who survive against the odds, to fight battle after battle. There are never legends about the vast majority of pilots who die by their third engagement."

"Did you prefer X-wings then? When you flew for the New Republic?"

His returning grin was a bit impish. "Maybe, in the heat of the moment- but the thrill, the rush, is wholly different in a TIE. And in the years after the death of the emperor, the Empire did begin to show more consideration towards giving their doomed starfighter pilots the best shot of surviving. The modern models are generally shield-equipped."

I wonder if that's something new he learned on his recent trip to Bastion. That he would so openly discuss his glory-days of piloting is an abrupt change from his normal refusal to humor discussion that might encourage his children to aspire to similar feats of heroism.

Realistically though… he probably just feels bad about the recent household tension with me at the center, yet relatively uninvolved in the fight. Still- it was a novel feeling, that others might concern themselves with my fate… that father may not hold unilateral power over this family forever.

The idea is as appealing as it is frightening.


	11. Entry 11

**Entry 11**

Davin is…

…

…

…

…

…

I can't even type it. Emotionless- some chiss I make.

Wynssa is crying again.


	12. Entry 12

**Entry 12**

Davin is dead.

Three days later and it hasn't sunk in. Perhaps writing about it will help bring it into perspective. Somehow I doubt it. It certainly won't take the stunned grief out of my brother's eyes, nor the uncensored sadness from my mother's. Father has buried himself in his work; in some ways, I think the death of his oldest son has shaken him more than any of the rest of us. And I think I know why.

Admiral Parck visited our quarters three nights ago. Cherith let him in. The admiral is a stern sort, but he usually spares a smile and greeting for any of us who cross his path on the rare occasion he has to see father here. Not that night. He nodded tersely to Cherith, asked whether father was in his office, and strode quickly from sight.

She rejoined myself and Jagged, watching an old holofilm, and it wasn't until ten minutes passed and father summoned mother to speak with the admiral as well that we gave it another thought. Regardless, we were very curious when half an hour passed by and still none of them emerged. Father rarely involves mother in matters of the military- and what else could Parck have wanted?

It was nearly an hour before mother left the office. Her eyes were not red, but there was something behind them… she told the three of us that father wished to see us, and then went to find Wynssa in her room. We passed Parck on his way out, and he inclined his head deeply, an oddly formal gesture towards three teenagers, as we slipped past him to see father.

"Close the door."

I don't know why he said it; the intimacy of being enclosed, perhaps. But at the order, the first flicker of nervousness twisted my stomach.

"There was an ambush near Thearterra."

And with those words- six simple words- we all knew. What else would Parck visit father for _here_, that mother would need to be present for?

Jagged was utterly motionless. Cherith grabbed my arm but her wide eyes were locked on father as she asked whether the Vagaari were responsible. Father just shook his head and responded in stilted tones that the ones we know only as 'Far Outsiders' had sent out their own expeditionary party, one that, by tragic coincidence, was surveying Thearterra at the same time as Davin's scouting party.

A scouting party. It was his reprieve from conflict. A few months of dull work to let him rest after tireless efforts against the Vagaari.

There was one survivor- _one_. A young chiss female, I cannot even remember her name. Her duty should have first been to report to Commander Stent, but she came to Parck- said it was the least she could do because Davin ran a suicidal cover run for her so she could get word of their advance to the necessary parties.

He got to be a hero after all- but gone is the Fel invincibility.

The three of us stood in total silence as father relayed all of this- evenly, quietly, voice never breaking, but with none of the usual fire in his eyes. And after he finished speaking, the faintest sound of Wynssa's cry suggested that mother was telling her the same news father relayed to us. Jagged turned and left the room in a flash, with none of the usual formality and decorum. Father closed his eyes and nodded to me and Cherith. She left; I remained where I was. And when father looked up again, he started slightly to see me still standing there.

"Did you approve the mission?"

No 'sir'; hard, demanding tone. Father just stared for a moment before nodding once, stiltedly.

I don't know why I said it; I already knew what the answer had to be. It was probably the first thing that went through his own mind once he had processed Parck's words- save, perhaps, that his last visit with Davin had been fraught with argument.

Vengeance, maybe? It couldn't lessen my pain, but perhaps I thought I'd garner the slightest satisfaction at twisting the vibroblade in his gut.

I didn't, not really. But I do wonder whether father has even once second-guessed what we are all doing out here, isolated from the galaxy-proper. Especially now that it has finally cost _him_ something.


	13. Entry 13

**Entry 13**

The reality, that the Fel family has gone from eight to seven- or seven to six, by official reckoning- has slowly sunk in. And strangely enough, it seems to be Wynssa who has most latched on to this fact.

I call it strange only because she barely knew Davin. She has always known that she has an older brother out there, fighting for the House Phalanx- but until his visit (could it be only a matter of weeks since we were all here together, as a family?) that knowledge was very hypothetical. But both Davin and Chak made a point to spend some time with our youngest sister, who was but a babe when they last lived at home, and on some levels, I think she feels that she just gained a brother, only to have him taken away.

She asks daily about Chak now, who was only able to make one, brief holocomm home a few days after he received word through his chain of command. He was distant and distracted… I wonder if he hasn't funneled his grief into an intense focus on his new duties. Always eager to please, and in tune with others' feelings, it seems that dealing with the rest of us may be too much for Chak right now.

Most heartbreaking of all though, was when Wynssa, timid but determined, came into Jagged's room one night after dinner and asked him quietly not to leave to go to the training academy. He looked nearly as stricken then as he had upon hearing about Davin. And I wonder if he had allowed himself to forget that he is due to report in only a few short weeks.

What Wynssa is too young to understand though is that now, Jagged _must_ go. Davin was his idol, his hero, and the two of them were incredibly close despite their difference in age- there is no question that Jagged honor his legacy and his sacrifice, and follow in his footsteps at Rhigar. In some ways, I think it is good that he is already approved for the next class- to wait another season would likely only foster feelings of frustration and resentment, Jagged is not the most patient of us.

Usually quiet and thoughtful, Cherith has taken on more of a brooding attitude in the past week, and I wonder how the death of our oldest brother will come to define her, in the weeks and months ahead. Though young at the time, much of Jagged's present motivation stems from Davin's initial departure to the training academy- his death merely adds emphasis to Jagged's determinations. For Cherith though, I wonder if this here will be her call to duty, will be the final stage in her transition from adolescence to the Chiss concept of adulthood.

Regardless, it is only a matter of time- two years, three at the most- 'ere she becomes established on whatever path will define her to the Chiss, who are concerned first and foremost with your position and what you've accomplished in it, before who you are and how you got there. While they may be xenophobic and superior, it is such an attitude that allowed Davin to earn such high standing among them- to an extent, Chak as well, though he has the advantage that comes with serving Imperial forces under Parck's purview, rather than Stent's Chiss forces.

I do not see Cherith as a pilot though. She has a soft, analytical intelligence about her, contrasted with Davin's brash yet keen ability to improvise above all else. Granted, I would have said much the same about Chak as Cherith, some years ago… but we Fels are driven to the cockpit. It is in our blood, and beyond even that, lies in some unspoken need to emulate and impress father.

Perhaps that is unfair. To the best of my knowledge, none of my brothers were ever urged to adopt the same profession in which father gained his galactic renown. But when you live in a fortress that serves as a military outpost, far away from the rest of the galaxy, where everything around you is devoted to and dominated by the concept of militarism…

In what other direction are any of them supposed to take their lives? What might Davin have chosen to do with himself, had he been raised on the estate on Corellia where he and Chak were born?

Would he still be alive today?

A morbid part of me wants to pose the question to father- perhaps not the question of whether Davin would be alive, but what fantasies he once entertained before the powers of the galaxy- the Empire under whom he loyally served, the New Republic to whom he defected, the Hand that gave him a purpose to it all- drove him to this exile. Did he envision that, with the blood of a Fel and an Antilles, his children's futures were practically set in stone? Would it have much mattered, given the peace finally established between that Empire and the New Republic, a peace unknown to our forces out here in the unknown?

Part of me wants to ask the question, but I'd never dare. It would be unfair- not to my parents, but to Davin who never once resented or regretted the direction in which his life took him; who, until the very end, believed in something more important than himself, and gave his all to it. It would be unfair to the pilots who died with him, and to the one he managed to save that she might forewarn others of the enemy advance. It would be a cheapening of his sacrifice, of his devotion to his duty.

And it would cheapen Jagged's determination to pursue a life that would have made Davin proud, as has ever been his goal.

His attitude would inspire me, if only I had has much devotion to _anything_ as my siblings do to serving the Hand with their every living- and dying- breath.


	14. Entry 14

**Entry 14**

Jagged left this morning with two young Chiss who were also approved for the academy in the past few months. Obviously unable to see him off at the hangar, we exchanged our final farewells in Jagged's room; I could not help but notice that behind the pride in his eyes rested some latent nervousness… that he looked unsure, and younger than his fourteen years. The nervousness dissipated, and only one who knew him as well as I would have noticed it in the first place. But there was still something about his departure, as he slung his small travel bag over his shoulder, that made me briefly want to echo Wynssa's sentiments and ask him not to go. A vulnerability.

He was up late with father in his study last night. I do not know of what they spoke, but I wonder if father is the source of Jagged's subtle yet abrupt changes, or whether father simply picked up on it first and so initiated their late conversation. I did notice, however, that the last thing Jagged packed in his small satchel was the small Clawcraft model that Davin put together when he was last here; father must have given it to him, I had rather forgotten about it in the past several weeks. A nice gesture, sentimental- perhaps not uncharacteristic of father, but unusual at any rate.

My ability to keep in touch with Jagged will be somewhat hindered by my nonexistence. Correspondence necessarily cannot be addressed to or sent from a hidden person, but Cherith will act as a proxy. Her own free time will lessen substantially soon, however, as Jagged's departure comes just before the start of a new season here on Nirauan, too. Wynssa will commence a more formal routine of study on a stricter schedule with Chiss children who are younger than she but of an approximately equivalent mental development. Cherith will move on from primarily classroom-based study and begin applying her knowledge in more practical training in a variety of areas- all somehow pertaining to the warrior culture of these people and of the Hand itself.

As Cherith flits between combat training, piloting, communications, intelligence analysis… I shall, of course, remain here. As I did when Davin, Chak, and Jagged progressed to that stage as well. The resentment I felt when Jagged moved on (heart fully set on piloting, of course), has mostly gone away. Though a definitive purpose has yet to be established, I continue to study and research people and places in the galaxy beyond even my siblings' wildest imaginings.

Pieces of a complex historical puzzle are working through my brain, some fitting together and others still looking for their place in the bigger picture. Puzzles of a galactic scale and a personal one, for the Fel family… puzzles pertaining to the last war and, if I am coming to understand father, to the next one as well. There are answers to be found; the problem is that I am so far unsure of the questions… or, for that matter, of who is really asking them.


	15. Entry 15

**Entry 15**

We again find ourselves absent father for a couple weeks while he journeys once more to the so-called Imperial Remnant. I sometimes wonder- if Bastion is the remnant of the old Empire, then what are we? An experimental offshoot of it? A successor to it? A bastard child of it?

The more I ponder it, the more I think that is what father is trying to discover as well. What are we? What is the point, precisely? The Hand has been capably guided by Parck for more than a decade, but it lacks the merit of vision, of direction. It maintains a status quo while waiting for something to come along strong enough to do one of three things: crush it, splinter it… or lead it. For ten years did Parck, Stent, and father do little but watch and wait, pursuing the same campaigns to exhaustion- only to find it futile, in the end, years of devotion and sacrifice in the name of misplaced faith.

It has been a slow crossroads, from the time the visitors destroyed our hangar to father's latest parleys with the so-called Remnant. A slow acceptance that, promises be damned, Mitth'raw'nuruodo was not returning to lend visionary purpose to his past absence and the Hand's future. And with a new but so-far stable peace between the Remnant and the New Republic, the questions are only multiplied.

Mitth'raw'nuruodo gave his life for that conflict- was it, therefore, wholly futile? Did his final push for which he abandoned the Hand accomplish anything, or merely delay the inevitable peace and at the cost of many more lives? Or could it be, instead, that his successors are so far inferior that they failed to carry out whatever visionary course he may have laid before them in advance of his death?

These are the questions, I believe, that delayed the final decision to contact Bastion; that still keep father wary of the leadership there. Whatever his experiences prior to the Hand, he has spent too long around the chiss now to accept the premise of compromise; too long reassured of the need to beat back the Rebels and reclaim the Empire's lost territory.

Of course, his conviction is swayed by experience. He served the early New Republic loyally, if briefly. But I believe that only heightens his confliction now. He abandoned comrades, family, let them believe he was dead, with the assurance that his work here was of the utmost importance, that it was part of something far bigger than the squabbles between the Rebellion and the Emperor-less Empire.

Why then, did Thrawn himself give his life to those squabbles? And what mystery of purpose did he leave behind him?


	16. Entry 16

**Entry 16**

Father is due back tomorrow. Cherith and I connived a trip into orbit in the _Starflare_ out of mother. Just a joyride (where would we go?), but any day spent out of our apartment is a liberating one for me. And in talking to Cherith, I think she too enjoys the escape from the fortress, though she would never complain of her isolation in light of mine.

We had an enlightening discussion, actually, one that made me feel guilty for spending nowhere near the time engaged in close conversation with my sister as I did my brothers. It was a natural division of our ages though; it was not really until Davin left and then Chak that even Jagged became more of a confidante than an at-times annoying younger sibling. Their proximity in age always kept Jagged closer with our sister than the rest of us.

She is quiet, Cherith, watchful and observant, but she knows what she wants; or rather, what she does _not_. She confessed to me during our flight that she had decided some time ago that she does not wish to pursue piloting as all of our brothers have. Part of her is nervous to discuss her path with father upon his return- not because she believes he will be angry, I think, but because she fears he will not understand. I don't believe that she herself even understands. There is something about being a Fel that equates to the cockpit. There is also probably some measure of guilt or confusion in her mind over honoring Davin's life, and Jagged's choice to follow in his footsteps.

Though her commitment to the Hand and all it stands for- or rather, what she _perceives_ it stands for- is still as strong as ever, as strong as any of our brothers, Cherith did confess something else to me: she's dreamed of some day taking off, seeing what else is out there. Going to Corellia even, and attempting to find what remains of father's family. Living a life in the service of but not wholly defined by the Hand, by the chiss, by Nirauan.

I doubt it should ever happen; once Cherith's path becomes more defined, it will take over that part of her life she now has to spare on such flights of fancy. But part of me will longingly envision some day, a few years from now when Cherith is a little older, that we might take another joyride around Nirauan in the _Starflare_… and just keep going. Set a course for Corellia, for Coruscant, for any of a thousand other worlds where we are all unknown, where the concept of a shadow child is entirely relative to our strange surroundings and our strangeness to them.

I wonder what mother and father would say when we returned from such a hypothetical trip.

I wonder if I would return at all.

That thought occurred to me as I sat in the cockpit of the family yacht, staring blankly at the vast array of distant stars. Cherith was in the galley looking for snacks, and my sudden urge to program hyperspace coordinates for somewhere, _anywhere_, almost overtook me. It is no wonder that we reserve these pointless flights for when mother, ever more lenient than father, has the final say on them.

Father is not a stupid man; he must know that there is a limit to how long I will stay confined. That one day, I could very well succumb to that urge and just disappear into the vastness of the galaxy, never to be heard from again. Realizing then just how easy it would be, curiosity won out and I keyed for the database of planetary coordinates in the hyperdrive…

…to discover it passcode protected.

Perhaps it always has been, I do not know. I've never looked. But though I had no intention of going anywhere then and there, I feel somewhat bested in a round of dejarik. Like father is sitting on a shuttle en route home from Bastion, leaning back with that calculating look in his eyes as though to say, 'your move, son.'

Touché indeed.


	17. Entry 17

**Entry 17**

We received news from Jagged today. He has finished his basic introductory training at the academy and will now join the ranks of the cadets. Unsurprisingly, he is the only human amidst the chiss students; their reactions to him range from casual curiosity to cool indifference, by the sound of things. I will be intrigued to hear if that changes once he is tried and tested amongst them.

The cadet commander is a humorless female of the Nuruodo family. Jagged says she will be a fierce warrior one day. I wonder where he sees himself in that future vision.

He also says that the cadre remember Davin well; remember him as a brash young pilot who was overly fond of heroics. They mean it as a warning rebuke against Jagged, probably expecting the same attitudes and behaviors from two sons of the same family. What they likely do not realize is that Jagged will take every such remark as an honor to Davin's memory and, in turn, could very well find himself more likely to emulate our oldest brother, even if unintentionally.

While Jagged navigates the procedures and politics of the academy, I have my own intrigue right here at home- for the first time in my life, I have flown a starfighter.

Well, not exactly. The day after father arrived from Bastion, he returned to our quarters unexpectedly in the middle of the day while Cherith and Wynssa were at their training and lessons. He beckoned me to follow him down the long corridor that separates our apartment from the private hangar where the _Starflare_ and father's shuttle are housed. In the few days since Cherith and I took our jaunt around Nirauan, a new fixture had been added to one corner of the hangar: a TIE fighter holosimulator.

The chiss are not overly fond of simulator technology, preferring to train first in two-seater craft with an instructor. With some slight modifications though, father somehow arranged for a simulator to be outfitted to not only conform with the specs for the major TIE versions currently in use, but also for the Clawcraft.

So this is to become part of my daily routine, two hours spent in the hangar learning how to pilot a craft beyond the family yacht. It will be a progressive development of skill, each day's training determined by my prior advancements and struggles, and programmed each night by father after he evaluates my performance.

Father must have initiated the process the last time he was in Imperial space, it surely took longer than the two weeks he was there this time to acquire and adapt the sim. I wonder who he trusted with such a bizarre request- not as much as I wonder his guiding purpose in it, however. He touted the usual line from my younger days, when I would gripe at the unfairness of being forced to learn seemingly pointless information- that being a shadow child does not equate to being useless. That just because I have no present need to skillfully pilot a starfighter does not mean I can discount the future possibility.

Regardless of the reasoning, it only further proves my sense from aboard the _Starflare_, that father is always a step ahead. He manages to appease my restlessness by slackening the leash ever so slightly, bit by bit, year by year, like a pet nexu being raised to precisely the limits it can tolerate and then having those boundaries firmly entrenched, that it might happily accept them for the rest of its shackled life.

But damn him if he doesn't know precisely how to pique my interest. Even the chained nexu might be appeased by the occasional treat and praise for good behavior.


	18. Entry 18

**Entry 18**

We have further intrigue on Nirauan, and a mystery to accompany it. This time, however, the curiosity comes from without, a strange thing for our isolated empire, unless it be from potential enemies. While not precisely friendly and grudgingly tolerant of our existence, our suspicious neighbors have generally turned a blind eye to the activities of and in the Hand, even as more and more of the Ascendancy's youth have chosen to join the House Phalanx and serve under Stent and ultimately Parck.

The larger curiosity though is not that we have been acknowledged… but that we have been acknowledged by the highest levels of Ascendancy leadership, with a message reaching us on behalf of an Aristocra of one of the ruling families. After requesting a meeting with only the vague specifics that it had to do with one of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's projects of old, an envoy arrived two days later to discuss what had occurred and to propose a formal meeting with Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano of the Fifth Ruling Family.

The envoy apparently did not come with the authority to discuss too many specifics, but enough to test whether the Hand was familiar with the incident that occurred, by father's count, some two decades even before its establishment. Father called it 'Outbound Flight'; such a phrase has not come up in my studies of the galaxy, and he said it likely would not, filling me in on what part of the story he knew instead.

It was to be an extragalactic expedition. Sponsored and funded by the government of the Republic, an ambitious undertaking of extraordinary cost which was to carry some fifty-thousand crew, scientists, and colonists, as well as a sizable host of Jedi. In the course of its journey to the edges of the galaxy, it was plotted to travel unknowingly through a remote corner of Ascendancy space; a corner, as chance would have it, to which Thrawn's Defense Fleet picket force was charged security.

Already Chancellor of the Republic, the soon-to-be Emperor dispatched a force to ambush Outbound Flight. His force was, instead, largely destroyed by Thrawn; his first contact with the galaxy he would later join and, indirectly, with the Emperor he would later serve. Whether he concurred with the Emperor's view of the Jedi-run flight as a threat to the rising galactic order, or merely saw them as a threat to the Ascendancy I do not know, but- and here is where the mystery begins- he purportedly obliged the Emperor and destroyed the flight, utterly.

Or rather… that's the story he relayed to Parck and which was subsequently told to father. That story is not particularly well supported by the visit of the Aristocra's envoy who claims that the remnants of the flight have just been found, intact enough to be identified…in the center of a star cluster that serves as an Ascendancy military stronghold.

The first question that comes to mind is- how did it get there? The _greater_ question, the one I know has been quietly irking father and probably Parck as well, is- why did Thrawn lie about it?

What actually happened on that fateful day, a half-century ago? And the version of the truth that father came to know… for whose benefit was that story crafted? The Ascendancy, that they might sooner exile him and enable him to join forces with the Emperor? The Emperor himself, that he might not doubt Thrawn's dedication and ruthlessness? For Parck, that he might exemplify that ruthlessness in his own days at the head of the Hand?

And what other words from Thrawn- words clung to and revered in his life and death- were partial truths at best?


	19. Entry 19

**Entry 19**

I ran a simulator routine today, by far the most difficult yet. I had to restart it twice before I survived long enough to even understand what was going on, and even then, I barely lasted two minutes. The adversary was a strange enemy, nothing like the other starfighters I have gone up against in this virtual realm. Irregular craft, abnormal sensor readings, a bizarre shielding system that I first mistook for a glitch in the programming of the routine.

At first, I thought it a sort of mental exercise; a flight doomed for failure, and a test of how a pilot might react, whether or not he can still achieve any goals of the mission. A morbid lesson, but one that I suppose any instructor would utilize in training, to get a measure of the pilots under his tutelage.

In some ways, I preferred the idea of that morbid exercise to the truth, which I learned that evening when handing over the sim data of the largely failed run. Father asked how it went, I laughingly told him that my performance was more than a little embarrassing.

"Yes," he responded in a low murmur, "my own attempt to run that flight was…not my finest hour."

Which is when I realized that it wasn't just some training meant to make a point. "It is a real enemy? Who?" He raised a brow; my stomach sank. "The Far Outsiders?"

"Our techs have been working at compiling the data brought back from Thearterra. That mock-up is the closest they can manage, considering the sketchy nature of our sensor readings against whatever strange technology they utilize." I was still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I had just faced off in a simulation roughly designed to equate to the battle that killed my brother.

"You believe we will be seeing more of them?"

Father pursed his lips. "Many, many more. This program," he held up the datacard from the sim, "is to be distributed across our training centers, of both the Hand and the Phalanx. The instructors need a sense of what threats are likely to face the current and future training classes."

"Will you give it to the Aristocra?"

An odd smile greeted the question. "Funny you should ask- it was the topic of heated discussion today with Stent. What do _you_ think?"

"That if they are as many and as fierce as you believe, they _will_ invade Ascendancy space. The Ascendancy should be prepared for it."

"Stent doesn't feel the Ascendancy should be trusted with our secrets."

"Then Stent is a fool." Father blinked; surprised, perhaps, to hear me speak in such blithe terms of one in such high position. "His pride makes him forget one of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's supposed reasons for creating the Hand in the first place- safeguarding the very people who banished him. He would see them punished for doing what Thrawn _knew_ they would and contrived to make happen."

"Perhaps he merely feels that it is an insult to the capabilities of the Hand, to imply that we will not succeed in eliminating this threat as we have many others."

"Is that what _you_ think, sir?"

He considered for a minute before answering. "I think your analysis of the situation is better than Stent's; I also think your analysis of _Stent_ hits close to the mark. His willingness to sacrifice a high position in the Ascendancy makes him feel a certain moral superiority over those who abide by the long-standing rules of the Chiss which many are beginning to find outdated and potentially dangerous."

"_You_ left a great deal behind to be here as well." It was one of those comments that escaped me before I could quite filter the thought.

"And you wonder if I feel morally superior for it?"

"I wonder if you regret it ever."

"Regret is a dangerous emotion to allow for one in a position such as mine."

I should have known he would not give me even that much. Regret would be akin to admitting that he had made mistakes in his past. Not particularly interested in continuing the conversation, I excused myself and stood. I was almost out the door before he stopped me.

"Cem. I do not regret the work we do out here; but yes, I do often regret what it has cost the rest of you."

I nodded once and left.


	20. Entry 20

**Entry 20**

After a steady progression through the common Imperial training models to this point, father has me continuing to focus my efforts in the simulator on the Far Outsiders. I see three possible reasons behind this- first, that he truly views this as the foreseeable future of combat for some time to come; second, that he foresees some actual role for me when the inevitable invasion happens; or third, that he believes anyone capable of handling combat against these fierce warriors should be able to survive anything. Some combination of the above, perhaps.

Cherith, meanwhile, has been assigned a training role in the base Operations Center, some form of low-level intel analysis and systems management. A temporary stint, for a few months, at which point she will undergo an evaluation of performance and decide with her mentors whether to pursue that path or switch to try out a different specialty. Whatever nervousness she may have felt over undertaking such a path, and father's view of it, seems to have been assuaged. What she may have failed to account for was the fact that this will keep her on Nirauan far longer than did Davin, Chak, or Jagged's paths.

Father drew us both into a conversation this evening regarding this _Outbound Flight_ situation. Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano left this afternoon after a two-day round of discussions concerning the fate of the craft which, interestingly, the Ascendancy seems determined to put in the hands of someone else. Lacking the connections to the galaxy-proper that the Hand has, if distantly, the Aristocra has requested Parck's assistance in obtaining some form of diplomatic representative from the New Republic to see to the extrication and return of the long-lost flight.

After Cherith left, I couldn't help but eye father skeptically. Looking mildly bemused, he bade me speak my mind.

"The Ascendancy wants a representative from a foreign government completely unaware of its existence to accompany a team into a military stronghold to take possession of a junked craft that most people today have never even heard of? They're up to something."

Father grinned. "Oh, they're certainly up to something. They don't simply want a diplomat- they asked if we had any recommendations for any capable _warriors_ who might accompany the team."

I would have expected that to be the last thing they wanted; people who might pose a threat to the security of an Ascendancy force. Father indicated that the Aristocra had something more on his mind, something pertaining to the violent end of the craft that Chaf'orm'bintrano was somewhat close-lipped about. In any event, I think the meeting has added more questions than it has answered regarding the story of _Outbound Flight_ and whatever role Mitth'raw'nuruodo might have played in its fate. There is certainly a score of new questions surrounding the strange determination to return it to its somewhat rightful owners.

Their request, at least, comes with an easy answer. I was about to retire for the evening when it occurred to me. "You'll contact the Jedi again, won't you? Skywalker?"

"What brings you to that conclusion?"

"He certainly seems to be a worthy warrior, based upon his ability in grounding Nirauan's fighter base. He already knows we're here, which I assume means he has a vague idea of the existence of the Ascendancy; more importantly, he's shown a willingness to keep the existence of this base a secret, judging from the absence of attempts to fight us or liaise with us from the Republic. I should think the Aristocra would value discretion."

"Unsurprisingly, Stent is wary of the obvious choice, citing Skywalker's actions from his last appearance here as reason to avoid further dealings with him."

"The Empire isn't at war with the Republic anymore, and we've already established relations with Bastion. Considering any number of others would have sent Republic forces bearing down on us three years ago, I don't know what Stent can truly find to complain of."

Father just smiled. "The status quo of our isolation is chipping away; Skywalker, then Bastion, now the Ascendancy… it makes him nervous. Events are spiraling out of his tight grasp of control."

"Does that not make _you _nervous?"

"Of course. I merely choose to look onwards, to the day in the near future when we will be grateful for the relations and allies we have cultivated."

The more we talk and the more I consider, the bleaker I believe is father's outlook on the future of the Hand. Possibly his outlook on the galaxy as a whole.


	21. Entry 21

**Entry 21**

Though he only recently began his new command assignment, Parck has authorized father to recall Chak for a new tasking. Having spent his military years in the cockpit, Chak is to undergo a basic training routine of ground officership in the next six weeks, with father's hope that he can use Chak and his unit as eyes for the Hand during the strange mission to recover _Outbound Flight_. An experienced and capable team from the 501st has already been selected, that they might help guide the young officer smoothly through his accelerated training.

Part of me is… strangely disappointed. Even as I contemplate it, the idea is as ridiculous as it is beyond any remote measure of possibility, but… that small part of me wanted to think that, just maybe, _this_ was to be my task. A secretive mission with those who know almost nothing about us anyway… what would there be to lose?

It _is_ an absurd notion, but the idea that the past year's work and study might have borne such intriguing results is a difficult one to shake.

Cherith has taken diligently and devotedly to her new work. Every evening, she sits with her datapad and fiddles with mockups of system security protocols, learning routines for different emergency scenarios. Last week, she shared as much news of her new duties as she is able in a message to Jagged, a response to his most recent account of life on Rhigar.

A dry humor always underlies Jagged's messages, but I think it is a little forced. Cherith delights in his tales of the stuffy chiss personalities he deals with, but tends to overlook the smaller details- that he is singled out and wears a different uniform from his chiss peers; that rarely is his rank, more important to a military chiss than his own name, conferred upon him outside of the most formal of settings.

Cherith does not seem to grasp that he is a bemusing distraction to those who, unlike the chiss with whom she serves here, have never dealt with a human before. On Nirauan, the Fels are given the benefit of the doubt, given father's position and the fact that Parck, who is ultimately in charge of it all, is human. Outside of this base, and especially among the Phalanx forces, it is a constant fight for Jagged- as it surely was for Davin before him- to prove even the slightest worth, let alone his equality or, as Davin demonstrated, superiority.

Nevertheless, Cherith seems to already be drifting slowly away from the restless and adventurous persona that claimed her only weeks ago as we chatted aboard the _Starflare_. I cannot fault her for possessing the same basic nature as all of the rest of them, but part of me is a little wistful, contemplating what trouble we might have wreaked if she were to succumb to her flights of fancy.

In the end, it is little matter. Just a foolish dream, Cherith's last flirtation with the childhood she is leaving behind day-by-day. Persistence of foolish dreams aside, I am not wholly sure when I left that childhood behind.

Really, I'm not sure I ever had it in the first place.


	22. Entry 22

**Entry 22 **

I foolishly thought that the pain of losing an older brother… a confidante, a friend… would be a hurt long unrivaled in my life; that the grief of losing their oldest child would be an anomalous feeling for my parents, while their children were yet so young. That half a year later, the painful feelings would be slowly replaced by fond memory of the duty-bound son and brother who, 'til the very end, honored who he was as a Fel, as an Imperial, as a chiss.

That was true, to an extent- until now.

Now… how can you compare those you love and lose? How can you acknowledge the heroism of one death while agonizing over the unfairness of another? It feels wrong- it _is_ wrong, a disservice- but I cannot but help do it.

There's little else to do, waiting with numb patience for what promises to be yet another blow. Because… if I don't think about Davin…

I'll be forced to ponder dozens of horrid scenarios in which Jagged was, in all likelihood, killed in the attack which, according to early reports, claimed the lives of at least two-thirds of the cadets on Rhigar.

And if I don't think instead about Davin… if I let myself drift into the fitful sleep which has claimed Wynssa, a sleep she has twice now woken from in tears, looking wildly around my room in confusion… if I don't distract myself…

I will continue to see, over and over again, the image of Cherith's limp and lifeless body in father's arms.


	23. Entry 23

**Entry 23**

The positive news, in short supply as it is- Jagged, against all odds, is alive. Like most of the survivors, he is reported as wounded in the course of the pirate attack, but we know nothing else of his condition. Chak has been recalled ahead of schedule and his unit routed through Rhigar, that they might assist with security, recovery, and information dissemination.

The rest of the news from Rhigar is bleak- the post's flight instructor is reported to have been killed in the early wave of attacks. Stent, who escaped injury in the attack here, may never regain consciousness and lies near death at the academy. Which means that the defensive coordination must have fallen onto the shoulders of the ranking cadet commander- a heavy burden for even a chiss to assume suddenly.

But there are some survivors, so she must have done something right. Here though…

Here, I was too late. Or the fortress was too unprepared. The attackers too strongly armed, the shields too untested…

I don't know who or what to blame, but the need to put the responsibility for my sister's death at someone's feet is too strong. Of course, the basic answer to that, the simplest one, is the pirate organization that spread across the region like a plague, fast and furious, attacking without warning with no greater objective than to loot, aggrandizement of personal wealth and glory… father says they are called the Cavrilhu Pirates, that their wealth and standing in the fringes of the known galaxy has waned in the past few years, that they've been forced to expand their horizons.

Unfortunately for them, they expanded straight into Imperial and Chiss territory.

I want a name though; I want to know who put the fatal blaster bolt into Cherith's chest, even as she… ever the Fel… performed her newly sworn duty to the Hand, as she fought to lock down the computer network, to protect the assets of this fortress and the rest of the empire.

She and her peers succeeded in the task, but that is little consolation… cannot erase my memory of the desperate grief in father's eyes as he looked up upon my entry into the systems room, too stunned to even draw a weapon in his own defense as he cradled her body to his chest… her dark hair disheveled from the events and spilling limply over her shoulders… her eyes closed, but mouth slightly open in what I can only imagine was the beginnings of a surprised exclamation…

…

…

…

It was like a farcical joke and a hellish nightmare, all rolled up into one scene of chaotic destruction. The fortress- the home I've known only in small part, but whose winding corridors and basic features I have had memorized for years- a mess of flashing lights and raid alarms. Distant explosions mercifully isolated from the residential wings, but undoubtedly destroying the bulk of our defensive systems.

The alarm that the fortress had been breached.

I never dreamed such a thing to be possible, and I don't believe mother did either. But it was the final straw for me, as the anxious fear in her eyes increased ten-fold, and the panic behind them suggested to me that she was no longer willing to place her faith in Wynssa's instructors to see her and the youngest of the chiss children to safety. With communications either jammed or flooded in the confusion…

She did not even have time to protest before I was rushing into father's office. The drawer in his desk where he keeps a spare blaster is generally locked; the benefit of having spent many long evenings in here during the past few months is that I had a decent idea of the keycode. It took me two tries but I took the blaster, and a spare comlink which I tuned to the override emergency frequency.

I barked at mother to get to the _Starflare, _seal it, and stand ready at the weapons systems in case any of the infiltrators breached the private hangar; then, attention half divided between listening to the chaotic reports sounding over the comlink and watching out for intruders, I ventured into wholly unexplored corridors.

There are designated evacuation routes and safe rooms in the wing of the fortress that serves as an education center; in the seven interminable minutes it took to reach the area through hidden back corridors and rarely-used stairwells, each report I could decipher through the comm channel settled a weight in my stomach. It sounded as though the initial breach point had been not far from there, and while the older, armed students fought back the infiltrators, the younger ones were largely pinned down and separated from the central security forces.

It is fortunate that chiss generally have the presence of mind and self-discipline in battle not to shoot first and ask questions later. Based on the bodies as I rounded the last corner to the room where the younglings were cowering- two humans, a twi'lek, and a defending chiss- it would have been easy to take me for an intruder, but for my uniform which is in the style of the older students, though without the identifying markings upon it.

Wynssa crying my name in surprise from where she hid inside the room seemed to resolve any remaining suspicion.

"How many do you have here?" I asked the head defender, a female chiss far too young for the job; her superiors were probably off with the older students. There were thirteen chiss younglings, aged between four and eight, and Wynssa, who had dashed into the corridor and tucked herself under my arm, fear obvious in her wide blue eyes. "I can get them to a ship."

"The hangars are obvious targets, and as we cannot get there, the point is irrelevant" she informed me stiffly.

"My parents have a yacht; in the private residential hangars. It's not as obvious a target as the fighter bays, and it certainly won't be more dangerous than here." I glanced at the younglings crowded in the room. "It'll be cramped but they'll fit."

Having six children may have been an anomaly in this culture; but it did mean that my parents had to possess the appropriately-sized travel accommodations, something I'd never had particular thought to be thankful for before that day.

Chiss are also trained to make fast and strategic decisions. After a soft curse beneath her breath and a moment's consideration, she ordered the other two helpers to take up rear guard, sent a hasty message via datapad that probably had no chance of making it through the channels in the chaos, and beckoned the younglings from the room to begin our slower but still hasty progression back the way I had come.

This part of the fortress still mercifully spared from assault, we made it nearly to the hangar without incident- the lone 'incident' was solved by a single and decisive charric shot from the girl, a slightly more startled and delayed one from me, and less than two minutes later, my mother was greeting the lot of us at the ramp of the _Starflare_ and shuffling the children aboard. I stopped mother at the base of the ramp.

"Word from father?" She shook her head. "Cherith?" She bit her lip, afraid, I think, that I would run off again at her answer of 'no.'

My mother is a very smart woman.

A curious thing happened on my way to the Operations Center of the fortress, though it was some time before I could even give it much thought. I turned a corner at a harried run, and found myself caught up in the grasp of two strong figures, who had clearly lain in wait as they heard me coming. Instinct being to struggle, only the cool Cheunh words of, "He is alone- probably lost. Just kill him," made me realize that I had, in fact, been captured by chiss. My own people, so to speak.

"Wait!" I gasped as one of the guards withdrew a hand to grab his charric, "wait." In my panic, I nearly forgot the Cheunh I had been taught at the age of three. "_Atsif'on_."

I think it saved my life, that one word. It gave the third member of the ambush party pause and he held up a hand, staring at me harshly.

"He is an infiltrator," the guard holding my arms barked.

"No," the leader murmured curiously, transitioning to Basic. He leaned close, eerie eyes searching my face carefully. "He is a Fel." A slight flick of his hand signaled his man to release me, but the other was still holding his charric pointed uncomfortably close. "My apologies," he continued silkily. "There are so many of you, it is difficult to keep count."

"I'm looking for my sister. Cherith- the older one."

A slight twist of his lip suggested some amusement at my clarification, but he did not delay in directing me towards the Operations Center, and bidding me to have a better care of my stealth tactics. He beckoned his men onwards, and they marched purposefully in the opposite direction.

The encounter was nearly driven from my mind upon my terrible discovery in the systems security room, but as I spent the long hours of that night desperately casting my mind about to avoid thinking about Cherith and Jagged, I realized something that stopped my breath.

The third man… the one who ordered and then stayed my would-be execution… it was Stent. Too frantic in the moment, I had not even registered the burgundy uniform of a Phalanx Commander, though it had seemed out of place next to the darker uniforms of his guards. And Stent, with one Cheunh word and a good look at me, realized exactly who I was- rather, realized _what_ I was- and protected the secret.

He must have been on his way to a ship, because it was only hours later that the word came through about Rhigar; we now know that Stent had arrived only minutes before the pirates discovered and raided the academy. It is likely that he was instrumental in the survival of some of the cadets, though he possibly paid with his own life.

I have debated whether to tell father of the encounter. He knows I did not go unseen during the events of that tumultuous day, even thanked me quietly for retrieving Wynssa. But given the tension that oft exists between him and Stent, I wonder if it is even worth bringing up until it becomes known whether Stent will survive his injuries.

In any event, we have enough on our minds for now. Father plans to make the journey to Rhigar soon, where he will be faced with the necessity of relaying devastating news to both Chak and Jagged.


	24. Entry 24

**Entry 24**

We held a small memorial for Cherith two days ago. The original plan was for father to depart soon afterwards for Rhigar, but mother quietly informed him- it was not a demand so much as a simple fact- that we would all make the journey together. A combination of need to see her other two surviving children and refusal to let any of her family out of her sight, I think.

I am glad for the chance to see Chak and Jagged, but the coward in me wanted nothing more than to leave the revelation of terrible news to father, to hide in the bunk cabin aboard the yacht. And that is almost precisely what I got. Almost.

Upon our final approach, we were informed by flight control that Jagged was in the infirmary. Feeling it would be best to first get full account of his injuries, and the condition of the wrecked base, father determined to see to Jagged and then arrange a meeting with the ranking base personnel. Mother went with him to go as far as the infirmary, leaving myself and Wynssa aboard the _Starflare_ in the hangar until the situation had been measured.

It was a decent plan, one that even came with the likelihood that I would be allowed to venture forth later around the unfamiliar base, if only to see Jagged- there were a number of strange parties already present for crisis management efforts, and I think my secrecy was the last thing on father's mind for now. It was a decent plan, but that plan was ruined when, not five minutes after father and mother left the hangar to see _him_, Jagged arrived here instead.

I was so unprepared for it and caught so off-guard that I just stared blankly at him for a moment after he came aboard the ship. In all fairness, he seemed equally caught off-guard to see me, but his recovery was faster and smoother.

"I was expecting father."

"He…" I couldn't even form the words properly. "Mother thought we should…all…come." _All_. It seemed such a harsh betrayal to say it aloud- _all_. Mother, father, Wynssa, me. Jagged didn't even know what _all_ meant anymore. "They said you were in the infirmary, mother and father headed there a few minutes ago."

"I was," he nodded slowly, "I finished what I was doing when I heard you were landing… sorry, communications are a little muddled at the moment."

"No, I mean… we heard you were injured." I finally took the moment to look my brother up and down; he wore the dark uniform of the cadets well, crimson piping on the legs and sleeves uncomfortably evocative of blood. His hair was shaven, nearly bald, which seemed to correlate to the synthflesh bandage stretching above his right eye and deep into his hairline. "Ah."

A rueful grin threatened his serious demeanor. "Skull fracture. I've been out a couple days now; restricted workload, the headaches are brutal."

"So what were you doing now? In the infirmary?"

"Daily med allotment. Checking on the recovery progression of our several personnel still in treatment."

"Stent?"

He shook his head. "Still a daily fight to keep him alive."

"Are they hopeful for him?"

Jagged frowned, a quizzically thoughtful look touching his eyes. "The chiss… they don't hope. Hope breeds disappointment. They accept what is, and adapt their expectations as their reality shifts, no more, no less. Stent is alive, they will do all they can to keep him alive; if he dies, he is dead, and that is that."

Those were brutal words though he could not know it, and I knew then that I had to just do it. I cursed circumstances for conspiring to put me in this position, but what could I do but accept it? I briefly pondered going to another part of the ship, rather than standing awkwardly in the cockpit, but didn't want to risk alerting Wynssa to Jagged's appearance and subject her to the conversation we were about to have.

"Jagged… you know the fortress was attacked the same day this base was?"

He nodded. "It was my understanding that they were ultimately unsuccessful in acquiring any sensitive or useful information."

That was the military mindset. Not a question of damage, of loss of life… just the question of how the Hand's military and strategic capabilities may have been compromised. Only a few short months had done that to Jagged, and I briefly wanted to drag him by the collar back to Nirauan.

"They landed an assault force," I reminded him quietly.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as he tried to process my unspoken meaning. "And…?" He paused and glanced around, perhaps finally wondering just why the ship was so quiet. _All… _An utter stillness came over his face, and when he spoke, there was a numbness in his voice, in the movement of his lips. "_And, _Cem?"

I swallowed thickly, and my voice emerged in little more than a whisper.

"Cherith." He remained motionless. "She…she was in the Operations Center."

"Why?"

I stared dully. "Why? Because that's what she was learning to do, you know that."

"But why didn't she evacuate?" he demanded wildly, fury creeping into his voice. It was strange, that his initial reaction should be so heated; he'd taken Davin's death with the sort of numb acceptance I'd felt after the fortress attack.

"Because," I said quietly and firmly, "she had a duty to perform and-"

"And suddenly _you_ care about _duty_?"

A tiny voice broke into the argument, and caused us both to whirl around guiltily. "Jag?"

I hadn't heard anyone use the pet name in ages; even Wynssa had outgrown the tendency to shorten his name sometime prior. But the childish innocence in her voice, the hesitation in her eyes as she looked upon her brother in strange dress and altered appearance, caused something to shift in him and the anger bled away into a mournful sadness that, upon later reflection, I think was about more than Cherith.

It was about Cherith; and Davin. It was about a shattered innocence that had now claimed each and every one of us- an innocence that Davin, I now realize, lost long before he ever let on to the fact, possibly lost here, at this very academy as he struggled to prove his merit. What final incident pushed him over the edge, turned him into the harsh and angry young man who confronted father, I doubt I shall ever know- perhaps he lost a friend, a mentor, a lover? Saw unforgivable, unforgettable horrors in the pursuit of his duty?

It is not the chiss way, as Jagged reflected, to tolerate remorse, regret; their world is shaped by reality, not by lingering in flights of fancy, wondering what might have been. What pressure must Davin have felt, to be the first of us in untested waters, navigating this proud people and their high expectations? Pressure to succeed, lest he risk the chances and dreams of Chak, and Jagged, Cherith, Wynssa…

All of them except me.

Is it possible that Davin resented me for it? Resented that I might lead a life unencumbered by trying to be something I am not? Resented that _I_ am the shadow child? Could it be that, what I have long bitterly seen as oppressive captivity, he came to view, in some small part of his mind, as freedom from the difficult, dangerous, wholly altering path that undoubtedly awaited the others?

These thoughts consumed me as I sat brooding in the cockpit after Jagged led Wynssa to sit in the lounge and talk, as mother and father returned minutes later, corrected from the lapse in communication, and went to talk and grieve with their son.

After Jagged was forced to return to his duties a quarter-hour later, father came and sat beside me, quiet for some time. When he did finally speak, it was a gentle query. "Cem?"

It took me a minute, considering how I might vocalize any of what was going through my head. In the end, all I could come up with was, "I was thinking about Davin."

There was another minute of silence before father reached over and clasped my shoulder.

"Me, too."


	25. Entry 25

**Entry 25**

It is late. Jagged pulled me from my cabin aboard the _Starflare_ after everyone else had retired from a long, emotionally taxing day. The purpose was purportedly to 'take a stroll,' though it was more of a patrol circuit that he likely was not yet cleared to perform, due to his limited duty orders from the head injury.

Chak arrived with his taskforce a few hours after we did. Jagged wanted to meet him alone and tell him about Cherith. I did not really understand why at the time, but I think, after our stroll about the base, I am beginning to comprehend.

We walked up and down the dimly-lit billeting corridors, speaking of everything and nothing. Jagged wondered about the recent months on Nirauan in his absence, wondered how we had all been getting along; wondered whether Cherith had been content with her life in its last days. I told him about our fanciful discussions about exploring the galaxy someday, but also that Cherith had been proud to begin to feel out the path for her future.

We talked about Wynssa at great length as well. I am beginning to suspect that father will try to keep her out of military service altogether, that she will always now seem _too_ young due to being the youngest, that our parents will want to spare themselves the heartache of worrying after another of us. Jagged was skeptical- understandable, I would not have entertained such an idea a year ago. But if nothing else, this past year has given me a perspective on father that I dare to think is unique from that of my siblings. He has spoken intimately with me on matters I never dreamed he would broach with any of us- his conflicting feelings over Imperial service, the difficulties of weighing those sentiments against fear for his wife and the young Davin and Chak.

There _is_ more to father than the proud, militaristic general I have grown up to know. A side of him that constantly second-guesses his decisions- not the military ones, but the personal ones. The decisions that led him to the top of the Imperial Navy, to the New Republic, to Thrawn, to Nirauan. The decisions that separated him and mother from their families, in the name of something more important, of something bigger than all of us.

And yet for my conviction in his moral dilemma, I cannot yet decide whether _my_ circumstance ranks on his list of doubts or regrets. My only fear is that he only sees it from the light of my relative safety. At least one child who will be always underfoot. One who will never be the topic of a terrible conversation with Parck regarding a scouting mission gone terribly wrong.

In a moment of hesitation, I considered sharing with Jagged all that had come to pass in recent months. Father's unexpected task for me in studying the rest of the galaxy; my desire to get in the _Starflare _and just go, anywhere; the sudden appearance of a flight simulator; the intrigue of Outbound Flight and the ever-evolving mystery that was Thrawn, his intentions, his motivations. Before I could decide, however, a cool voice sounded from behind us.

"Lieutenant Fel." Jagged paused and turned, I followed suit. A tall female chiss in the same black and crimson uniform which Jagged wore was approaching. "Tlarik mentioned your insistence on taking the late round against medical advisory."

"I should have known not to trust him." There was a subtle banter in Jagged's tone, something I found strange.

Her gaze fell on me. "Your brother, I presume."

Jagged looked to me, a quick calculating look going through his eyes. He gestured to the chiss. "This is Lieutenant Shawnkyr Nuruodo."

It was a name I recognized from his holomessages. "Ah. Cadet Commander Nuruodo? Your reputation precedes you."

She narrowed red eyes; a look I first interpreted as anger, but it was more of a curiosity I think as she turned back to my brother and raised a cool brow. "You are on duty, Lieutenant, it is inappropriate that you should not bear proper insignia."

Jagged actually flushed a little, but his voice was steady and even. "There were other matters more important , it did not seem worth the distraction." But he pulled a pin from the breast pocket of his uniform and affixed it to his lapel. As cadet rank, it was a slightly altered design from traditional military markings, but similar enough for me to recognize it.

"Your brother proved himself worthy of the rank in every regard during the attack on this base. You should be very proud of him…"

She wanted to address me by a name or a rank, seemed slightly nonplussed that I did not bear one on my person. For a brief moment, I considered just telling her that I was Chak and hoping the two did not encounter one another during his mission here. But then I thought about my earlier reflections on Davin, on the Fels being forced to be something they are not, and I knew that the least I could do in his honor was to own my identity for what it was.

Before Jagged could speak up, I took a small step forward and extended my hand, meeting her glowing eyes steadily. "_Wal'dy-i-Om._"

_Wal'dy-i-Om_. Child from the Shadow.

Her demeanor shifted immediately. She inclined her head in acknowledgement and said sincerely, "I am sorry about your sister," and then directed her attention back to Jagged and did not once acknowledge me or even look at me for the rest of the encounter. Like she did not wish to see or hear too much.

Maybe there is an unspoken honor code surrounding such incidents. I do not know, and I do not intend on broaching the subject with father.

On our way back to the _Starflare_, Jagged explained some of what had led Lieutenant Nuruodo to hand over her rank to the unlikeliest of them all. I _am_ proud of him, but also sorry for him- it took him only months what took Davin years, and he is very young for the stresses and responsibilities there-entailed.

Responsibilities like passing along news to next-of-kin regarding the demise of their loved ones.


	26. Entry 26

**A/N: Last diary post here, which will be followed by a non-diary epilogue. **

**So generally speaking, when crafting this year of Cem's life, I made an effort to incorporate what we **_**did**_** know about the Fels into a narrative that mostly satisfied the scant material available in **_**Dark Tide, Red Sky, Blue Flame, Survivor's Quest**_**, etc. **

**The last two posts here are more self-indulgent and meant to tie this diary together with an AU I wrote a few years back, where Cem has a minor but important role in **_**New Beginnings**_** and then a much more prominent one in **_**The Value of Sacrifice. **_

**So in a nutshell, if these last two posts prompt a sudden "huh?" – that's why. ;-)**

**Entry 26**

It was late when we made it back home, and mother and Wynssa retired immediately. I thought to as well, but father summoned me quietly into his office and bade me sit down. His expression was closed off, which is not unusual for him of late, but there was a deeper sort of darkness behind his eyes that left me taken aback as I watched him unlock a drawer in his desk and withdraw a datacard, enclosed in an innocuous, transparent case. He laid it on the desk between us, and then folded his hands together and looked at me closely.

"I would like to tell you, Cem, that I am proud of you. I always have been, though you may find that difficult to believe in light of our frequent disagreements over the years."

This was most unlike father. "I… thank you, sir."

"You have born a difficult situation well, and have done so for a decade, since I believe you first came into an understanding of what was expected of you. But you also have some of that rogue streak in you, and that very well may have saved Wynssa's life, and those of the others you recovered the day of the attack.

"This," he tapped once at the case containing the lone datacard, "is something I have owed you for a long time, but could not give you; not until circumstances allowed it, not until you were old enough, until I knew you were ready. But you are ready now." He slid the card across the desk to me.

I picked it up and frowned, briefly distracted by curiosity from father's brooding tone. "What is it?"

"If you so choose- and yes, it is a _choice_, to be made by you and you alone- it is the most important set of information you have ever possessed. Memorize it carefully."

Mind swirling with exotic possibilities- what deep secrets lay on that innocent-looking card?- I accepted the implied dismissal without protest, and hurried along to my room where I recovered my datapad and quickly inserted the data. For all the promises of intrigue, my disappointment was great at first.

**Application File**

_**Imperial Naval Academy- Prefsbelt IV**_

**Class 3A041- Commanding Instructor Colonel T. Nhylatich**

**Applicant: **Davik Antell- _admission approved_

**Standard age at session commencement: **18

**Pre-session score assessment:** MC86-MS91-SA83

**Biographical information**

**Homeworld: **Ord Trasi

**Height: **1.73m

**Hair**: dark

**Eyes**: hazel

**Family:**

…

…

…

It went on. I made it perhaps halfway through the length of the file before the full weight of the meaning dawned on me, and I numbly marched back to father's office, where I knew he would still be sitting and waiting for my return. And he looked tired- more tired than I think I can ever recall. Not that it made a difference.

"What is this?" I demanded hotly, sliding my datapad angrily across the desk.

Father did not even look at it, but reached down and switched off the screen. "I know what it is," he murmured, "but not what it says. It is best if I do not know details."

"This is _me_."

"Yes."

"My height, my appearance… my simulator averages…"

"It was understandably important that _those_ details be accurate."

"And the rest are what I'm supposed to memorize?"

He inclined is head slowly, fingers steepled, elbows resting on the desk. "This is what I offer to you, Cem- a clean slate, away from the Hand. A chance to forge your own path."

"This isn't a _choice_," I insisted wildly. "To live in suffocating silence here, or to abandon everyone and everything for yet another path that _you_ have laid out for me?"

Father smiled gently, though strain still shone through in the terseness of his jaw, the tension in his eyes. "I don't think you quite understand, son- for all intents and purposes, this person on your datacard- he now exists. He has an Imperial personnel file. If you look at the secondary files on that card, you should find information regarding substantial funds in two or three different accounts. Enough that, if you wished to cancel your appointment to Colonel Nhylatich's training class, you could start over somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"Why can't I have a life _here_? A real life?"

The smile turned sad. "Because it is too late for that; I ruined that chance when I made the final decision to raise you in secret. You resent chiss culture, you resent the Hand, and you resent Grand Admiral Thrawn who you blame for it all. You will simply never fit in here, and I don't wish to see you try. My… my children have sacrificed enough for a people who will never fully understand them; but _you_, Cem, will never fully understand the chiss. And I would not see you serve a people you cannot respect."

"Is this why you've had me studying up on the rest of the galaxy all these months?" Father nodded. "To send me off to a far-away academy and forget my name, my family? Whatever qualms I may have with my upbringing, I never sought to dishonor my family by utterly abandoning and denying it."

Father's brow furrowed and he grew quiet for a long minute. Debating how much to divulge, I think, before realizing that he had little choice, not anymore. When he did speak, his tone was low and confiding, with a trace of something strange- almost hopelessness. "A war is coming. One that the Hand will not be able to contain from the rest of the galaxy; one that may very well be the end of the Hand as we know it. One that may see the end of this family.

"But it is against an enemy you have been taught to strategically match in starfighter combat. Should you choose to accept your space at the academy and serve under Colonel Nhylatich, I do not doubt that you will help him find a means of instilling those necessary principles in others. To send you to the Empire bearing the name 'Fel' would cause you more trouble than you realize, but to leave that name behind need not mean that you abandon your duty to it."

"An Imperial pilot on the outside, but still a shadow-child on the inside?"

"Again- that would be _your_ choice alone."

We spoke at length into the early hours of the morning. A surreal conversation- one I have, in a way, been waiting for all my life; and yet, the prospect of the reality of it… hours later, and I am yet unable to fully wrap my head around the idea. I find myself distracted by what mother thinks, what Wynssa would feel… how Jagged will react… should I proceed with this radical scheme. And there is a deep ache within me that, as my emotions have calmed, I think stems mostly from the fact that I know father to be right.

There _is_ nothing left for me here. Once- perhaps as recently as the day before Cherith's death- I would have argued that there was never anything for me here to begin with. But to see a potential fruition of the years of desperate solitude, to understand that this role- the hidden liaison to the Fel family on the other side of our self-chosen curtain of isolation- would never have been possible to Cherith or Davin, who had duties towards the Hand, duties by which they lived and died… could the years of loneliness have been worth it, to be free of Nirauan altogether?

Father said something just before we parted ways for the night, something that stuck with me. Understanding, I think, my reticence towards a sudden transition as an anonymous cog in the Imperial wheel, after a lifetime as a Fel- the human family among the chiss- he told me, "Our self-worth, our personal merit- these are not measured by a name, by a family, but by our actions in the face of calamity. In the course of a single attack, Jagged rose in the ranks from humored human cadet amongst the chiss, to the cadet commander of them all. It was not because he bears the name Fel- the training academy has no interest in pedigree, of humans _or_ chiss- but because he proved himself the worthy leader, won the battle, and saved lives in the process."

A rush of pride for my younger brother surged in me and I smiled, but father held up a hand, and made his last comment on the matter for the night.

"Nevertheless- should you so decide, your devotion to your new reality must be absolute. No evidence of the existence of a Cem Fel should follow you. Do we understand one another?"

I nearly opened my mouth to ask what possible evidence of my existence there could be… but then stopped short, nodded curtly, and excused myself for the night, knowing better than to doubt or question father.

How he found out, I doubt I shall ever know, but he knows I have kept record of the past year. He offered no censure at the time, and I do not regret it- on some level, it has proven cathartic in dealing with Davin's death, Jagged's departure, and then Cherith… but I knew from the start that it was a dangerous gamble. And father is absolutely right- when I go to Prefsbelt IV, there will be no room for such games. My inner side, yet a shadow-child of the Fels, will need to remain wholly internal.

Upon returning from my meeting with father, I held this datacard in my hands for some time, trying to decide whether to simply destroy it then and there- after all, how reckless is it to leave evidence, not only of Cem Fel, but of the alter ego I am to assume?

But perhaps I shan't destroy it. With some selective editing of sensitive information, I may simply leave it behind, hidden in one of the many places Davin, Chak, and I used to utilize. A single record that I _do_ exist, something to recover and cherish in the event that, some day, I can be myself anywhere in the galaxy; when the course of my fate has fully mapped itself out, at the whims of the Empire and of the galaxy… and yes, to an extent, at the whims of father.

Father- from whom we all derive our damnable sense of duty in the first place.


	27. Epilogue

**A/N: reminder: this bridges the gap into an existing AU, and is not part of the diary itself. **

**Epilogue – 42 ABY**

Major Davik Antell stepped into his dark apartment on the outskirts of Ravelin, Bastion's capital city. The musty scent of unfamiliarity was testament to how little time he spent here, how little time he spent on solid ground at all, after twenty years of service in the Imperial Navy.

Twenty years of a life lived as a lie.

Sure, he was the best fighter pilot in the fleet and a damn good commander- a name could not change those basic facts. But his history in the personnel files was nothing more than meticulously crafted and memorized fiction, from his name to his home world to his imaginary older sister.

Sometimes, he nearly forgot that he was not Davik Antell of Ord Trasi; that there was no such person as Juavi Antell, his fictionally crafted mother. He had seen his real mother perhaps half-a-dozen times in twenty years, the price paid, his sacrifice, in order to live his life in anonymity.

He would see his sister though- his real one, ten years his junior- for a few precious hours this shore leave, an infrequently taken risk but one that helped him maintain a connection, however small, to his old life. His old life that seemed more dreamlike with each passing day, month, and year.

His old life that, as he stepped through into the kitchen without bothering to turn on any of the lights in his sparsely furnished apartment, was about to come rushing back to him with a vengeance, and with one single word.

"_Atsif'on._"

The instinct to obey was too strongly engrained after two decades of military service, and the pause it gave him was his undoing.

"You have not forgotten your Cheunh, good."

As he turned, his hand dropped towards his blaster- another engrained instinct- and he drew it as the lights in the living area came on brightly. Whatever preconceived notions of what would happen next, notions formulated in the past split second and in the past twenty years- a blaster in the head, an overwhelming force of his father's enemies here to kill him, or perhaps hold him hostage under the guise of trading his life for his father's- all of those notions were vanquished in a moment of total confusion.

A single chiss male sat in the chair across the living area. Alone, unarmed, hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair and apparently unfazed by the sudden weapon pointing at his face.

"How many others are there?"

Purple lips twitched in bemusement. "How many do you suppose us to need?" The major glanced around the room, one eye still trained on the chiss. "Come, Major Antell- let us sit and discuss matters like civilized beings; there is no need for that weapon in your hand."

"Well," he murmured distractedly, still trying to analyze the situation and coming up with nothing substantial, "maybe I'm just not counting on liking what you have to say."

"Oh, I am quite certain you won't like it in the slightest, but surely that is not grounds for my instant execution?"

Antell did not respond, and strode to the door of the small balcony, peering out at the dark platform and seeing nothing. He then turned to check the kitchen and his bedroom.

"Major, _Ar'set-i_. _Si'en-ti_."

"_Lam_. _Ta-kar'ia_?_ Kay'er-ti_?"

The figure smiled mysteriously and sat back, watching Antell over steepled fingers. "Put the blaster away, Major Antell, you won't be-"

"Stop. If you're here, you know that isn't my name, so stop calling me that."

"Very well… would you prefer Major Fel? Or Cem?"

He stared. "What did you do?" A brow rose curiously. "The handful of those in the galaxy who know that name are people I hold quite dear, so if I learn you've harmed one of them-"

"No," the chiss held up a hand. "It is understandable you would not remember, you were a very small child when we last met."

"You and I have never met."

"Wrong. Else, how would I know your name is Cem? That you were four months old when your mother brought you, and your two older brothers, to be united with your father at Nirauan?" His grip on the blaster wavered, unsure. "How would I know that your father agonized more over that one decision- to subject you to a life of isolation and anonymity- than ever he did over questions of military proceedings, at which he was always a sure, steady, and capable hand?"

An involuntary twitch skewed his aim, and he glared. "My father did his duty, no matter the bitter consequences."

"Yes," the chiss agreed, lowering his hands to rest lightly on the chair arms again, "he did; and I always respected him for that, it is what made him such an invaluable leader, of course."

"You speak of him as though he were dead."

"No- not dead. Merely growing advanced in age and hopefully enjoying a well-earned retirement from too-long at the service of others."

"Then you are not looking to use me to get to him?" Cem asked mildly.

A brow rose sardonically. "Master Fel, it would not take two years and unbelievable resources to discover that your father and mother are residing on a farm outside Coronet." The anger was again rising in Cem, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check. "But it is not the services of your father which I require this time, _Wal'dy-i-Om_."

"I do not serve the Ascendancy," he bit, "and I am no Shadow Child; not anymore."

"Were that true, you would not still bear a false name. Your duty prevents it. And it is not the Ascendancy which has need of you, Master Fel, but something far greater, and for a task that very well may alter the course of galactic history." He smiled suddenly and stood, seemingly uncaring about the blaster which Cem was too stunned and confused to use anyway. "I cannot force you, of course- go and see your sister, think things over. But should you realize that this here, Master Fel, _this_ is your destiny, the duty for which you were raised in agonizing loneliness for so long… I will be waiting, in three days' time, at the coordinates I've already transmitted to your datapad."

He walked steadily to the door, drawing the dark hood of his cloak over his head. Cem's eyes tracked him across the room but he did not move otherwise, save to lower his blaster. Just before the figure opened the door though, he paused and turned one last time, eyes glowing eerily beneath the hood of his cloak.

"You have the chance to restore a fallen empire to its former greatness; and you have the chance to at last claim an identity denied to you from infancy."

His question emerged as little more than a whisper. "Who are you?"

Hazel eyes locked with red. "I believe you already know the answer to that question."

**Fin**

"_What if he doesn't return? What if the rumors are just that: rumors?" _

"_Oh, he'll return. He said he would, and he always kept his promises."_

-Mara Jade and Admiral Voss Parck, 19 ABY


End file.
